


Mark My Footsteps

by lavendeer



Category: The Walking Dead (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Canon Disabled Character, Deviates From Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendeer/pseuds/lavendeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Nick, Sarah, and Sarita get separated from the rest of the group while escaping the herd and survive together, facing obstacles and meeting familiar faces as they head towards Wellington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Dawn

Nick could almost taste the rust of dried blood between his teeth, but the sky had never looked so beautiful.

Sometimes it felt like the world was ending, but crows cried in the distance, and worms that came up from the rain wriggled under his boots, and a soft purple dawn gently crept over them just as it always would. The world was alive.

And so were they.

It was the only thing making it easy to keep his legs still moving. Sometimes he forgot he was even walking, even in his own body. That made it easier, in a way. The ache in his back had dulled to a numb tingle, but he’d stopped wishing for a break ages ago. He just allowed himself to get lost in the haze of the sky, let his eyes glaze over, let it absorb his mind so he didn’t have to think about any of it—how lost they were, how quickly Sarita was bleeding through the tee-shirt he tied around her arm stump, how Sarah walked along like a slow trickle, how they were filthy and tired and lost and broken.

The only thing to tug him back was when Sarah stopped short, their linked arms straining with a jolt when she halted.

He blinked blearily, then turned back to look at her.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered, staring out towards the stretch of craggy road before them, eyes wet and red and wide behind cracked spectacles. Her grip on his arm tightened. “I can’t—I can’t do it. I want my dad. I want my daddy—I want—”

Nick swallowed, only now just realizing that his legs were buckling. He hitched Sarita up upon his back further, and she gave a soft moan. The humanness of it, though shallow and strained, made his chest a little less tight. The only weapon he had was a crowbar that dangled from his belt loop, and he didn’t want to have to use it.

Back when they all first escaped together, Carlos had taught them a few exercises, in case something ever happened and he wasn’t there to calm her down. Nick would’ve forgotten them by now if he hadn’t started using them himself, when he was alone and frightened and everything seemed like it was way too much. He wished someone could have taught him them when he was her age.

Nick glanced up at the sky one last time before looking down at her again. “Can you count to ten with me, Sarah?”

“I need my daddy,” she repeated, her voice quiet but shrill. She gasped in a deep, sudden breath. “I need my dad, I need him, I need—”

He just wanted to run. He just wanted to drop Sarita and leave Sarah and run and run and run until it all went away, until the smell of blood and the grip of panic were far behind and all that was left was those soft purple dawns.

But he couldn’t.

“Sarah,” he said weakly. This was the third time she had stopped short and started hyperventilating, but they lasted shorter and shorter with each occurrence. He was starting to see a pattern, and adapted to it as best he could. “Sarah, it’s okay. Just—just breathe, alright? We’re—we’re gonna count to ten, okay?”

His voice faltered breathlessly. He wished he could just sit down. Sarita’s cold lips brushed against the back of his neck, and a shudder ran through his chest. If she turned, he was bound to be her first meal—and then what would happen to Sarah?

If Luke was there, he would have told Nick to drop her, and Nick would have listened to him. But Luke wasn’t there.

“I can’t! I can’t! I need my daddy, I need him!” she protested, her voice growing louder. As her gasps quickened, panic tore through Nick’s gut when he realized his own breathing was rapidly catching up with hers, faster and faster, like there wasn’t enough air in the world. They were going to die, they were going to die, they were going to _die_ —

“I can’t go on, I can’t do it, I can’t—!”

“One—” Nick squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, sucking in the damp air through his nose as slowly as he could manage. “Two—”

Sarah buried her face into his arm, digging her nails deeply into his shirt. Hot tears pinched the corners of her eyes and her shoulders trembled. It felt like using all of her body’s might just to push away the urge to gulp in air, to just take in a long, careful inhale. “Three—”

Good. She was counting already. The first time it had taken several tries, and each time he had to start over amid her wailing, Sarita still shuddering weakly on his back, he felt more and more hopeless. It was a struggle to get to this point, but the change didn’t go unnoticed. Even just hearing that timid little “three” made the next number easier, and their words stumbled into sync, calmer and clearer with each number.

“Ten” was firm and determined, and they said it together.

They were standing. They could breathe. They would be okay.

Nick opened his eyes and managed a tired grin down to her. “Good job, Sarah.”

Sarah coughed, retching a little from the dryness in her throat. She ran her tongue over her teeth and drew a hand up to rub her eye. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.

They started walking again. Nick looked back up to the sky. It was getting lighter.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” This would certainly be easier if she didn’t keep falling into panic, but she didn’t need to apologize. If anything, it was his fault for not being able to keep a better eye on her.

“I made you scared. I felt you shaking.”

Nick’s jowls twitched. He didn’t even think she would have realized, the way she’d gotten lost in her own terror like that. Strange, how easily he could still get self-conscious under the gaze of a panicking little girl at a time like this. He lowered his head, the brim of his cap casting a shadow over his eyes.

“I wasn’t _scared_.” His words bit the air, and he could feel her start next to him, shaken by the harshness in his voice.

 _Shit_. Nick cringed inwardly. Of _course_ he’d go snapping at her the minute he managed to calm her down. He wasn’t cut out for this—trying to lead, trying to keep people calm. He wished Luke was here.

“I’m—I’m just cold,” he lied, forcing a calmer tone. She couldn’t know how terrified he really felt. He needed to be strong for her. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, alright?”

“Okay.” Sarah didn’t believe him, but she pretended to because she knew that would make him feel better. For a long time she’d felt afraid of him, but Rebecca once explained to her that sometimes people acted meaner than they really were to try and protect themselves from getting hurt. She knew he wasn’t all bad, because he talked to her about old video games and laughed softly when everyone played cards together and cried a bit when he thought no one was looking after they saw lurkers tear apart a doe along the riverbed.

Sarita’s intact arm slipped down from around Nick’s neck, dangling helplessly. Sarah looked up at her, and they briefly caught eyes. The woman couldn’t bring herself to do more than just blink slowly, but Sarah could figure out what it meant. Still clinging to Nick’s arm with the other, Sarah slipped a hand up to entwine it with Sarita’s. Weak fingers twitched, trying to squeeze back.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sarita.” Sarah offered her a small smile.

“There you go,” Nick said with a grunt, shifting the woman’s weight slightly. Maybe focusing on Sarita, giving her a little sense of responsibility, could keep Sarah distracted and cool-headed. “We’re—we’re gonna take care of Sarita, right? Make her all better?”

In a voice light and clear, Sarah continued. “When we get back to the cabin, my dad is gonna fix your arm.”

Nick’s stomach sank into the soles of his feet a cement weight.

“You’ll like it there. It’s big, and we’ve got lots of board games. Maybe we can get a Christmas tree, like you had at your house.”

Warm sunlight bled through the purple dawn. The wet mud that squished under their shoes had begun to harden into damp dirt.

“We can get a Christmas tree,” Sarah repeated to herself softly.

Nick raised his head, squinting towards the horizon.

“We can get a Christmas tree. We can get a Christmas tree. We can get a Christmas tree.”

Along the tree line was the first building they had seen since they made it out of the herd.


	2. Rest Your Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feedback I've gotten already in such a short time has been overwhelming! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying the story thus far, thank you for reading!

As they marched onward, Nick wondered if he was even seeing right.

The building shimmered under the heat of the morning sun, and it felt much too like crawling through the desert in a Warner Brother’s cartoon, headed towards an oasis that would melt back into a palm tree the moment he touched it.

Did mirages happen in the woods?

“It’s a barn,” he announced breathlessly, eyes scanning over the peeling red paint as they grew closer.

“A manger?” Sarita’s voice was a delirious whisper, but just hearing her murmur in at least semi- consciousness gave Nick a burst of hope. Maybe it wasn’t a mirage. Maybe they would live. Maybe they’d be okay.

Sarah stared towards it with her lips pinched together tightly. For some reason, she wanted to correct Sarita and explain to her that a manger was actually a construction for food storage, like a trough, and didn’t look anything at all like a barn, and how the heck could a baby be born in one of those, anyway?

She closed her eyes and imagined Rebecca sitting in a pile of hay, and it almost made her want to laugh, but smiling felt wrong for some reason. Why did it feel wrong? She tried to remember, but all she could think about were Christmas trees.

“We can get a Christmas tree,” is what felt like the only right thing to say.

Dead lurkers were scattered about the ground around them. Normally Nick would be more hesitant around them—you can never quite tell if they’re _actually dead_ —but most of their heads had been popped like crushed tomatoes. Someone with good aim had been by. Lucky for now, but Nick didn’t want to stick around and have to reckon with them.

The fence that surrounded the barn was flimsy and weak, but it was a barrier nonetheless. It would be difficult to climb that with Sarita. They halted before it, and the ache along Nick’s spine returned as he strained his neck, squinting across the field to find an opening.

A glint of reflected sunlight prodded his eye, and he blinked in surprise. Something metallic lay before them, and as he swept his eyes across the stretch of ground, he realized there were more.

Saucers poked up through the dirt, littered around the barn like deadly wildflowers. Maybe on a dry day, when the grass was tall and brown, they were undetectable, but the night’s rain had flattened the shriveled grass down, washing away their camouflage. Fleshy viscera and rotting innards soaked by them sparingly—the remains of lurkers who had walked a little too close.

Land mines, planted like crops in the soil.

“Fuck.” The sickening realization made his legs begin to buckle again. He should have known better. He should have known better than to get his hopes up, to think it was a safe place, to think the Star of Bethlehem had led them to a miracle.

Even if the building had been safe, even if there were no land mines and they could waltz right inside, what then? Sarita was still bleeding out, Sarah was still in shock, and he was still a hopeless, lost, pathetic mess. How would a barn solve any of that, anyway?

What a cruel universe it was to let him still think things could be okay.

“Nick.” A tug on his arm pulled him from his thoughts. He looked down to see Sarah staring down the road, her eyes bugging in fear. “Nick, s—someone’s coming! There’s—there’s a—”

“What?” He followed her line of sight and looked up. Bright headlights flashed like a camera bulb, burning his eyeballs. A hulking vehicle was coming down the road, headed straight towards them. Frozen before it a moment, like a deer in headlights, he briefly wondered if this was yet another mirage.

Did mirages come in _twos_?

“Nick!” Sarah screamed, yanking his arm, yanking him from his own mind yet again.

“Shit. Shit! Okay, move!” Going as fast as he could with Sarita in tow, he ushered Sarah to the side of the road, stumbling over their own feet as the battered RV came to a crawling stop.

“Get behind me, Sarah,” he hissed to the girl. She complied, and he swallowed nervously. “And if anything happens—anything bad—make a run for it. Just don’t go near the barn.”

Sarah whimpered in response, clinging to Sarita’s hips. She wanted to run now. She just wanted to run right now, run and run and run and hide hide hide away forever until her dad came back and her heartbeat wasn’t pounding in her head anymore and the smell was gone and things were okay.

But she had to listen to Nick, because he was going to take her back to the cabin. Things would be better back at the cabin.

Nick shifted his arms, struggling to see if there was a way for him to grab his crowbar and keep Sarita on his back at the same time. His fingers flexed, but to no avail. He would have to drop her to do anything, but that didn’t seem like a good idea.

The window on the passenger’s side rolled down, and Nick closed his eyes, bracing himself for the shot.

Instead, he heard a low whistle.

“Almost thought you guys were walkers,” a voice called down. “But then I was like— _Dude_. Walkers don’t give each other piggyback rides. That’d be pretty sick, though. In, y’know, _both_ senses of the word. _Cool Sick_ but, like, also sorta _Fucked-Up Sick_.”

Nick cracked his eyes open to see a man leaning over the edge, smirking down at him. He poked a finger under his striped beanie to scratch at his forehead, looking over the ragtag group below him with a curious expression.

“She, uh… was she bit?” the stranger asked, gesturing to Sarita. He eyed her bloody stump with raised eyebrows, his curiosity melting into apprehension.

Nick hesitated. Each batch of survivors had their own knowledge on how things worked. A lot of people still didn’t realize cutting off a bitten limb could save lives—but even if this man did know, why should he bother taking the risk? What was to say he would be any more generous than Nick himself had been when Clementine showed up on their doorstep?

Sarita’s arm had been cut off hours ago. If she was going to turn, it would have happened by now, and he and Sarah would probably be long dead. The bite wasn’t a problem anymore—it was how much she had bled out. Even with the lace he’d pulled from her shoe and tied around the end of her stump for a makeshift tourniquet, she still had lost so much.

The bite was gone. For all intents and purposes… she technically wasn’t bitten.

“No,” he said through clenched teeth. He hated lying, but it was safer this way. Right? “We…”

How could he possibly explain Howe’s Hardware? The deceit, the downfall, the taste of blood between his teeth when he was knocked to the concrete and kicked in the stomach by people he thought he was supposed to trust? Escaping, hiding, being rounded up and herded back like cattle? Fleeing again, smearing themselves in blood and tearing down the walls as they went?

How could he say that all in just one breath?

He wished Luke was here to talk instead.

“We… got attacked by some folks,” he explained carefully. “Got separated from the rest of our group.” He bit down hard on his bottom lip and shifting uncomfortably on his toes before adding in an exasperated tone, “Look at us. We ain’t fit for trouble. We’re just tryin’ to pass through.”

The man clicked his tongue, drawing his hand up to his chin to fiddle with a piercing under his lip as he drank in Nick’s words. Nick looked at his boots, burning under his scrutiny.

The stranger’s eyes widened when he saw a third face peering out from behind Nick. Sarah blinked up at him timidly before quickly ducking back behind Sarita, hiding her face in the woman’s blood-smeared back.

“Shit. _Shit_ ,” Nick hissed under his breath, watching as the man turned away wordlessly. He’d been hoping they could have parted ways before anyone in the car noticed Sarah. Who knew how many more strange men could be hiding in that RV? He could hear murmuring, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Sarah,” he whispered, his vision bouncing between the passenger window and the RV’s side door. “Can you take the crowbar that’s on my belt?”

Sarah didn’t respond, simply shook her head vigorously into Sarita’s back.

A stinging fear was creeping through Nick’s chest when he heard no response. Sarah needed to be able to protect herself. She needed to _not be afraid_ of the idea of protecting herself. Maybe he was expecting too much of her, at this point, but his hands were tied.

“Sarah—” He stamped his foot nervously. “Come on—just—”

The side door swung open. Nick bit his tongue and stepped back, straightening up as best he could. There wasn’t much he could do at this point to look intimidating, but he could at least try.

Standing on the metal steps wasn’t the man he’d spoken to, but someone new. Nick’s initial reaction was to be relieved she was a woman, but judging by the rifle in her hands, they weren’t quite in the clear yet. She had an imposing presence, her dark eyebrows arched and her lips a thin line as she looked over the group.

The first thing she did when she saw them was recoil in disgust, bringing her hand to her nose. “Ugh. Gross.”

“We ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” he repeated quickly.

“Just shut up and get in the van,” she said, jerking her head backwards.

And be subjected to yet another circle of Hell at the hands of strangers? After putting his faith in Tavia and following everyone to Howe’s, Nick was done taking chances. His plan was to stick with his own, and right now, that was Sarah and Sarita. They weren’t family, and he hadn’t known Sarita a week, but they’d all been dragged into Howe’s, and they’d all escaped together. Blood is thicker than water, but walker blood soaking your shirts takes top. The rain couldn’t wash that all away.

Sarah stirred behind him, humming a tiny whimper.

The woman rolled her eyes and lowered the rifle slightly. “We’re not going to fuck with you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Eddie told me you’ve got a hurt woman and a kid. We can—” She paused on her own words, as if they tasted sour on her tongue. “We can help you.”

Nick knotted his eyebrows, breaking eye contact with the stranger to look over the side of the van. The man he talked to—Eddie, she said his name was—seemed friendly enough, and judging by the woman’s hesitance, he had a strong feeling Eddie was the one who was pushing to help them.

But what were they trying to gain from this?

A sharp pain stung Nick’s temples. This was too much thinking, too much pressure, too much risk. Why couldn’t Luke be here? He couldn’t handle this on his own. He wished he could be Sarah and just hide behind someone else.

“Listen,” the woman sighed. “You saw the land mines in that field, right? The asshole living in that barn is _fucked up_ —he’s like eighty years old and spends all day popping walker heads with his sniper. You don’t want to be around when he wakes up.” She wrinkled her nose, giving Nick a once over. “I don’t know what the hell you’ve been rolling around in, but from a distance, you don’t look human. Not that he’d care either way, but...”

Sarah peered out from behind Nick again, holding her hand to her mouth. Her fingers trembled against her lips. The woman’s frown softened when she saw the girl, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Come on,” she said, her tone noticeably gentler as she looked back to Nick. “Eddie can patch your friend up. And the girl… you know…” She cast Sarah another glance and pursed her lips. “We’ll take care of her.”

Nick glanced over to the barn, and then back down the road. A sniper would certainly explain the busted skulls along the street, so it wasn’t completely impossible to believe.

Frowning, he looked back to the stranger. They couldn’t afford to be stubborn. It was die out here, or take a chance on the unknown.

“Okay,” he relented, lowering his head. If this went wrong, if Sarah or Sarita got hurt because of this, that was all on him. But what other choice did he have?

“Alright.” She cracked a slight grin and stepped down, holding the door open for them to start boarding. “The name’s Lilly, by the way.”


	3. Broken Wings

The day Sarita first experienced death was the same day she broke her arm.

She remembered what a cool summer day it was, how the breeze tickled the back of her neck and warm batches of sunlight kissed her skin as it crept through the leaves. It was a nicer day than they’d had in a while, and the thrill of climbing the Jackfruit tree was exciting, but as she listened to the distressed flapping on the branch over her head, she couldn’t bring herself to be happy about it.

Her mother always told her that nature was pure, and that it was humans who were cruel. So why would her cat try to hurt an innocent little bird?

“This is pointless, Sarita,” her twin brother Adi had told her in Hindi as he watched her from the ground, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “The bird’s wing is broken. You’re wasting your time.”

Sarita could still feel the sharp sting as her bare knee scraped against the bark of the tree. She hid the pain with a grunt, heaving herself up further with each branch. Eight years old and four minutes his elder, she didn’t have to listen to a word he said.

“We can fix his wing, Adi,” she had called back down to him. Heroic young girls just like her saved animals all the time—in all of the books she read, at least. “We’ll make a splint, and nurse it back to health.”

Adi frowned. “And then what happens when it’s healed? You’ll have to let it go.”

His question made her pause. She hadn’t thought about that part. “Well, what if he—”

Without so much as a splintering warning, the branch snapped.

Falling seemed to happen so quickly, faster than she could even process it. In a moment she was on the earth, a sickening snap radiating through her ears. Adi was by her side in a second to scoop her up in his arms.

“I told you, Sarita!” he scolded, fear prickling the back of his throat. “I told you!”

Her head rested in his lap on the way to the hospital, and she would never forget how strange the swaying of the car felt when she closed her eyes. He stroked her hair and flipped between soothing words and light teasing. She nearly believed him when he said that if the break was bad enough, they would have to cut off her arm.

“No—no! Adi—I don’t want them to—”

She was swaying in a car again, the ache in her arm still as sharp as the day she had broken it.

“Wow. You’re… awake.”

Sarita drew in a deep breath. She was sprawled on the leather couch of an RV, a ragged blanket tucked around her. The scent of death still hung heavy. Adi was not there.

Lilly sat beside her, watching Sarita curiously with tired eyes. She quickly moved to set aside the handgun that had been resting on her knees.

“Where am I?” Sarita asked hoarsely, trying to crane her neck and look around. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt too dry. “Where’s—where are—?”

“Relax. You’re safe.” Lilly was already relaxing herself, relieved that the woman had woken up conscious and alive. After Eddie had finished up with her arm, she’d sat there for hours, waiting for even the slightest groan, even a hint of sickly pale. By this point she’d grown desensitized to the possibility of putting down other survivors—what bothered her more was getting blood spatters on the inside of the RV. “And don’t worry, your kids are fine.”

Her kids? Sarita sat up, peering over Lilly’s shoulder. On the couch opposite of them Sarah and Nick slept soundly, leaning against each other with their legs drawn up to their chests. Not even a shuddering bump in the road could stir them.

“They were exhausted,” Lilly continued, glancing back at them with a smirk. When she turned back, her face had already fallen. “I don’t blame them.”

It took Sarita a moment to find her voice again. “They… they are not my children.”

“Oh.” Lilly blinked in surprise. “I, uh—I just kind of assumed—”

“It’s okay,” Sarita said softly, her gaze lingering on them a moment before she looked back to the other woman. “Family is a strange word these days.”

A small ache pinched Lilly’s chest. She brought her hand up to rub the side of her neck. “Yeah.”

Sarita’s eyebrows knotted as her gaze traveled around the interior of the RV again. She didn’t see Kenny, or Clementine, or anyone else from the group besides the two on the couch. “It’s just the three of us?”

Lilly nodded. “Your, uh—your friend there said you guys got separated from your group. We found him carrying you along the side of the road. He didn’t really tell us much, but… it sounds like you’ve been through Hell.”

And then it all came back—shuffling through the herd with hot, gurgling walker breath on her neck, the distant pitter of gunfire, the high-pitched scream that ripped through the night. Her arm ached again and she could feel those teeth sinking into her hand once more, terror blossoming in her eyes as Clementine’s hatchet cast a shadow over her elbow.

“No,” Sarita whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. She brought her right arm up to clutch her left shoulder, took scared to even look. It couldn’t be—her arm was _there_ , she could feel it, she could feel it aching, she could feel her fingers flexing right there under the blanket—

It wasn’t hard for Lilly to guess what Sarita just realized. She crossed her arms and frowned, looking away. “I’m sorry.”

Tightening her jaw, Sarita drew in a deep breath and nudged the blanket down. Her sleeve had been ripped off at the shoulder, and the warm flesh of her upper arm almost made her heart rest easy, but it sunk to her gut as her eyes crept down. Tightly wound in greying bandages, her arm ended abruptly right past her elbow. Staring at it was surreal, as if it was some kind of magic trick, some kind of dream.

“Oh—” She clamped her remaining hand over her mouth, a wave of lightheadedness pushing her back down on the couch. Her arm was gone. _Her arm was gone_. “Oh, I—”

Lilly watched her collapse into the grief, feeling a bit uneasy and a bit itchy. She glanced over to Eddie at the driver’s wheel, wishing he could have been the one to break the news instead of her. Comforting people wasn’t exactly her strong suit.

“Eddie cleaned it up and stitched it the best he could. We’re… not exactly a hospital, but he has experience, and we’ve got supplies. So you’re in good hands, here.” That was good news, right? Lilly knew _she_ would be happy to hear that if she was in Sarita’s shoes. “We weren’t sure if you’d even make it, but… here you are. You’re pretty goddamn lucky.”

Sarita simply blinked in response, her face empty as she stared up towards the ceiling. Adi’s old words about cutting her arm off echoed in her hollow mind. She wished more than anything he could be here to hold her again.

She thought back to being eight years old, coming home in a cast. The bird lay still on the branch, feathers dancing gently in the breeze as its body grew cold. It was the first time she had seen something die.

“I’m sorry,” Lilly repeated softly.

Turning her head felt like a chore, as if she had to push and pull every muscle manually to make it move. But when Sarita locked eyes with Lilly, she felt a sudden swelling of something good. Not happiness, no, not yet, but _gratitude_.

“My boyfriend was dying when I found him.” Her eyelids fluttered in thought, and she stared out somewhere beyond Lilly’s shoulder—to an old restaurant, her gaze settling on a hunched, starving man huddled in the back kitchen. “Every day was a struggle. He was so weak and sickly, and he had so much pain inside him. It took a lot of patience and a lot of coaxing, and he is still healing. He would always tell me that no one in this world would be as kind. Sometimes it made him angry, because he worried it would get me hurt. But then, these two… _wonderful_ men took us into their home. They offered us a kind of hospitality I had never seen before.”

An ache weighed heavy in her heart for a guilt she shouldn’t even have—what would happen to Matty when he finally returned to the ski lodge, only to find they had all disappeared, leaving Walter’s body in their wake? What would he _think_?

She closed her eyes a moment, trying not to dwell on the painful thought. When she opened them again, she managed a weak smile to Lilly. “And now you’ve helped me as well. Thank you.”

Lilly drew her shoulders up guiltily and looked away. Sarita didn’t know how hesitant this generosity truly was on her part. Two years ago she had sworn to herself that she would never repeat that moment in the Macon drug store as long as this apocalypse would let her live. When those ragtag survivors, smeared in dead blood and quaking in their boots, marched into her RV under Eddie’s begging… it all rang too familiar.

It was just supposed to be her and Eddie—screw the rest, screw the world, screw _groups_. Their balancing act worked, and it didn’t need any extra players. If Lilly had learned anything from the Motor Inn, it was how easily the melting pot can burn.

If Sarita wanted to think Lilly was a kind person, then so be it. Hopefully her group wouldn’t stick around long enough to find out how wrong she was. They weren’t the first people she and Eddie had helped out, and they wouldn’t be the first they parted ways with, either.

“You… should thank Eddie, really,” she said in a stilted tone, scratching her jaw. “And your friends. Not me.”

Sarita nodded, a bit too weak to be earnest, but genuine nonetheless. “Yes. Of course. Eddie. He is the man who… tended to my arm, you said?”

“You girls gossiping about me back there?” Eddie wasn’t so far away that he couldn’t pick up snippets of their conversation. He cast a glance back at them over his shoulders. “I know I’m handsome, you don’t have to be shy.”

His comment managed to lighten Sarita’s spirits a bit. She gave a quiet chuckle. “Are you Eddie?”

“Sure as shit,” he quipped cheerily. “Hey, did Lilly tell you I used to work in a hospital?”

“Don’t start that shit again,” Lilly jabbed, rolling her eyes. “You scrubbed colonoscopy tubes and lined up all the surgical instruments for the _real_ doctors. Not exactly _House MD_.”

Eddie went to protest, but Sarita was already defending him. “Still, that is very good to hear. It’s more than many can say. ”

Maybe he wasn’t Carlos in terms of his skillset, but when Sarita and Kenny had lived with Walter and Matthew, the most medical experience between the four of them had been a CPR class Walter took in high school. Though her heart still hung heavy, and the remains of her mangled arm still throbbed, Sarita was starting to have hope again.

“I was trying to get into making prosthetics for some amateur horror films my buddy and I’d work on together,” Eddie continued on, grinning at the nostalgia. “Figured all that up close and personal gore could be an influence, you know?  I was so into that shit.” He shook his head, eyes flickering down along the road before him. “Can’t say the same these days.”

“He’s bullshitting. The movie thing was a pipedream,” Lilly snorted, leaning in to whisper to Sarita. “He’s got kind of a savior complex. Trust me, you guys aren’t the first strays he’s picked up.” Hopefully they wouldn’t be the first ones to linger. “Definitely the smelliest, though.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to get some _Febreze_ ,” Eddie concurred bluntly. “No offense, but you guys smell like dead asshole. Nick said you did it to get past some walkers?”

A sharp ache pinched Sarita’s arm. “Yes. A woman in our group had done it before. I… suppose it worked.”

“That’s what the dogs do.” Eddie took a turn to the right. “Dunno when you guys last when to a city, but they’re all over the place in those parts. They roll around in the lurker guts, get all nasty, and then travel around together in packs. Dogs are smart as fuck.” He glanced up to the rear view mirror, cocking an eyebrow. “Did the woman in your group happen to be half-dog?”

“There’s a Goodwill coming up in a few miles,” Lilly said, pointedly ignoring him with another roll of her eyes. “Eddie and I’ve stopped there before, so the place is pretty walker-free by now. You guys… _really_ need to change.”

Sarita opened her mouth to thank them again—but a small, shuddering snivel from the other side of the van stole her attention. Lilly turned to look over as well, the two of them silent as they watched Sarah squirm in her fetal position, her dirty fingers intertwining together tightly until her knuckles were white.

“Not… all of us made it past those walkers.”

It was all Sarita needed to say.

Lilly’s gaze lingered on the girl, her body feeling weighed down like her bones were made of lead. Maybe it was the exhaustion finally catching up to her, but she blinked, and for a moment, she saw _herself_ curled up on that couch, shaking and whimpering and hiding her face between her knees. She didn’t even have to ask who it was, or how it happened. Looking at Sarah… she just knew.

When Lilly turned back to Sarita, she repeated what she said to Nick, but this time a strange quaver in her voice almost made it difficult to choke out the words.

“We’ll take care of her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've headcanoned Eddie as a former nurse for a while, after I read that "gorked" (a phrase he uses in 400 Days) was a common ER/hospital slang term. My apologies if it comes off as a little too convenient, though. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for your readership! I hope you're all enjoying the story so far.


	4. Braiding Hair

Sarah could not go outside.

Cover her ears, hide her face between her knees, turn her body into a shell and cower inside—that was where she had to stay.

Muffled voices came in and out like radio static, trying to speak past her shuddering breaths, and they all sounded a little bit like her father. But they weren’t.

It felt so much like sitting on a wet bathroom floor, Florida heat fogging her glasses as flip flop feet shuffled by in droves. She could still see the boots of a Disney employee crouching down on the other side of the door, her hand reaching out from under the crevice. Sarah could remember her hand vividly—stubby white fingers with sparkly blue nail polish and a Claddagh ring on the thumb. That wasn’t where Claddagh rings were supposed to go. Why couldn’t she just put it on the right finger? The placement made Sarah’s skin crawl.

“Your daddy can’t come in, sweetheart.” Her words were supposed to be soothing, but her voice was loud and urgent. Sarah didn’t like it. She didn’t like her or her voice or her Claddagh ring, she just wanted to stay and stay forever or be scooped up in her father’s arms and taken back to some place safe. “It’s a girl’s bathroom. Men aren’t allowed in it. But he’s right outside, waiting for you. I promise.”

A baby had started to wail in the distance and the walls began to close in. Sarah clamped her hands over her ears. So many voices trying to smother her, so many feet trying to trample her, so many people who wanted to hurt her—

“I can’t do it! I can’t DO it!” she screamed. “I’m staying HERE!”

A seething sigh hissed out from Lilly’s lips like a slow-deflating tire as she sat back on her haunches. Undecipherable murmuring, incessant rocking, incorrigibility—this wasn’t what Lilly signed up for when she agreed to help take care of Sarah. High school babysitting gigs hadn’t prepared her for _this_.

Nick paced behind them, his footsteps as heavy and uneven as his heartbeat. One fist rested stiff against his hip, the other drawn up to his mouth to chew at the ragged skin around his thumbnail. Eyes narrowed as he watched Eddie guide Sarita into the Goodwill they parked outside of, a bitter sense of inadequacy making sludge of his veins. It was irresponsible of him enough that he’d dozed off earlier, leaving the two girls at the mercy of the unfamiliar. Now he was just going to sit by and do nothing as a strange man guided Sarita into an empty building alone?

Lilly could feel every footstep thumping in her ribcage, and when she turned to glare at him, Nick could feel her gaze burning through his skull. She could see through all of the cracks in his flimsy walls—the walls that crumbled each day, nothing to repair them with but the bones of those he had lost. Poor little Nick, poor broken boy, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders with nothing to support it but buckling knees. He’d been given the bugle to guide the camp but all he could play was _Taps_ for the dead.

She watched him a moment, her nostrils flared, but ultimately turned back to Sarah. Whatever pity she could offer him was nothing compared to the amount of pity he had for himself, and Lilly didn’t have time for people who felt bad for themselves. And he was supposed to take care of Sarah and Sarita? What use was a leader if they couldn’t hold their head up high?

“Listen,” Lilly said to Sarah, doing her damnedest to make her voice gentle. “You need to change out of your clothing. If you don’t, you could get sick—”

“NO!” Quivering little fingers dug into clumps of filthy hair as her scream ripped through the cramped RV air. Sarah clutched her hands against her head and hid her face between her knees again, sobs racking her lungs. “No, no, I can’t get sick! I can’t—I can’t become—I can’t turn into a—I don’t want to—I want—I need my—”

“Great! _Now_ you just made it worse! Good fuckin’ job!” Nick stopped pacing and tossed his hand out in Sarah’s direction, his eyes glued on Lilly.

“ _Look_ , asshole,” Lilly snapped back. “I’m not a fucking _shrink_. I’m trying the best that I can. If you think you can do a better job then stop standing there sucking your thumb and fucking _do_ something.”

Called out in the throes of panic, Nick stopped short, quickly drawing his arms to his sides. He stood there a moment, a bit helplessly—what _could_ he do? When he’d carried them from the herd and walked down that road with Sarah clinging to his side, it felt like he had been someone else. There was no soft purple sky above him to coax out that hero again—just the tin ceiling of an RV.

But he could still try.

Nick squatted down beside Lilly, as cautious and gentle as his long, clumsy legs would grant him. Her stare still felt hot on his skin, but he would try his best to ignore it. For Sarah’s sake.

“Sarah,” he said, the softness in his voice due more to defeat than any attempt to be tender. “It’s Nick. I’m here, okay? I’m here with you. You’re gonna be okay.”

A quiet sniffle came from the tangled mass of hair. Slowly, a large pair of eyes peaked up through the dark curtain, ringed with red and pleading.

“Nick?” Sarah’s voice was like cracked porcelain. “Where’s my dad, Nick?”

Cracked ribs would have caused a lesser ache in Lilly’s chest. She crouched before a mirror now, watching a scared little girl, fatherless and splattered in blood. She watched herself.

“Hey…” The gentleness in her voice came naturally this time, and she carefully extended a hand, letting it hover by Sarah’s head. “Would you like me to braid your hair?”

Hazy yellow light seeped in through the RV’s window behind them, casting Lilly in shadow until she was nothing more than a silhouette, strong and classic as a Victorian cameo. Nick stared a moment, hypnotized by the maternal familiarity, until the inevitable bloom of thick and pungent red crackled his vision. He tore his eyes away, heart sinking to his stomach.

Sarah raised her head further, tilting it to one side curiously. “Braid my hair?”

“Yeah.” Lilly beamed at her, snapping off one of the hair ties she had around her wrist. “We can get you cleaned up, wash your hair, get you nice new clothes, and I’ll braid your hair. I’ll do a French braid. You’ll look really pretty.”

Sarah swallowed, her whole body shuddering as she took in her next breath. “But I have to go outside for that, don’t I?” The terror in her voice had waned into what almost sounded like a cautious agreeability.

Her question was answered with a nod, but Sarah didn’t respond by closing in on herself again. Instead, she raised her head higher, her slumped body reassembling itself. She nodded back to Lilly, rubbing her eye with her knuckles.

“O—okay,” Sarah said, straightening her glasses. “As—as long as you and Nick stay with me. And we find Sarita. We _have_ to stay together.”

Pursing her lips, Lilly cast Nick a smug smirk, to which he just glared away from. Poor little Nick, poor broken boy, beaten down and failed again—but Lilly didn’t dwell on sore losers.

“Yeah. That’s the plan.” She offered her hand, and Sarah accepted. Gripping her rifle in her other hand, a sense of pride swelled within her. Leading, guiding; that was how things were meant to be for Lilly.

Nick trailed behind them bitterly on their walk from the RV into the Goodwill, bristling as venomous as a startled puffer fish. He had been able to guide Sarah before, hadn’t he? So what had changed? What was he doing wrong? Why would Sarah fold under the honeyed words of a stranger when he was right there beside her, trying so hard?

As they walked through the double doors of the building, he decided at that moment that he hated Lilly. He hated everything about her—her shrill voice, her domineering stubbornness, the way she looked at him like the cracks in his armor disgusted her, the way her hair was so long and thick and chocolate brown, just like his mother’s had been—

He _hated_ her.

“Sarah! There you are!” Peering from over the clothing wracks, Sarita still didn’t quite have the energy to run over to the girl, but she didn’t have to—Sarah did that herself, tearing from the others and wrapping her arms around Sarita with a bounding leap, her face buried into the armful of clothing the woman had scavenged.

She laughed quietly as Sarah embraced her, gingerly lifting her amputated arm to rest it on the girl’s shoulder as affectionately as she could. “I’m glad you’re here, Sarah.”

“Are you feeling better, Sarita?” Sarah craned her neck to look at the bandaged stump against her neck.

“She sure as hell _should_ be, seeing as she’s hopped up on Oxy.” Eddie strolled to their side, hands casually in his pockets as he grinned with cavalier.

Nick’s fingers curled tightly around the crowbar he still clung to. “What do you mean she’s _hopped up_?” he demanded, immediately on the defense. “How much did you give her?”

“Shit, man, relax!” Eddie held his hands up in front of himself. “It was just twenty milligrams. That’s baby stuff. She could probably stand for more, honestly, but I played it safe, so don’t gimme a hard time on this. I know what I’m doing, dude.”

“I’m fine,” Sarita said, her voice clear and genuine as she untangled herself from Sarah’s hug. “I feel a _lot_ better, actually. Eddie has been wonderful.”

Everything was slipping from Nick’s grasp. Lilly taking care of Sarah, Eddie taking care of Sarita—it was his job to do that, but nothing he did was good enough. He wasn’t fit to lead them. He wasn’t fit to take care of them. He wasn’t _wonderful_.

“Whatever,” he muttered, crossing his arms and scowling.

Tension hung thick in the air as Eddie and Lilly exchanged glances, holding a conversation between them in only blinks and eyelid flutters. They didn’t even need to look at Nick for him to know who the wordless discussion was about.

“Listen…” Lilly swung her rifle up to lean it on her shoulder, her other hand resting on her hip authoritatively. “Before anyone changes, you guys need to bathe. I’m gonna take the girls into the lady’s room and help them get washed up.” She glanced over to Nick, her eyebrows furrowing as she jerked her head in the direction towards the set of restroom doors at the back of the building. “Eddie can help you in the men’s room.”

“Why would I need _help_?” Nick snapped. Though he towered over the two of them easily, it still felt like shouting up. “I ain’t a little boy, Ma’am. I can take care of myself.”

The bait dangling in front of her nose would have been so easy to grab. All Lilly would have had to say was what she thought; “ _If you’re not a little boy then stop acting like one_.” But instead, she clenched her teeth and turned back to the girls. Fighting with this kid wasn’t worth it, and if he was all Sarah and Sarita had to rely on, then she’d sure as hell need to give them her all.

Eddie gave a low whistle as Nick stalked away from them, raising his eyebrows towards the women. “So… what crawled up that guy’s ass and died?”

“I… can’t say for sure, to be honest.” Sarita knew that he and Lilly were looking to her for an explanation about Nick’s behavior, but she couldn’t really gauge it herself. “I don’t know him too well. We didn’t talk much. He has a temper, but I think he means well.”

“I don’t really give a shit _what_ his problem is,” Lilly said impatiently, rolling her eyes. “But whatever it is, he’s got to get over it.”

Even after all these years, Nick still hadn’t been able to shake the habit of reaching for the light switch when he entered a dark room. He touched it instinctively as the door swung shut behind them, and then sighed, pinching his brow ridge. Only a shattered window to the far end of the room provided light, and it wasn’t much. He’d have to wash up in the dark.

But that was okay. At least he had a moment of privacy.

Exhaling slowly, he leaned his hands on the edge of the sink. Peering up from under the brim of his cap at his own reflection in the mirror felt laborious. Catching his own gaze, hollow and wet with hopeless guilt, made invisible hands wrap themselves around his throat.

The corners of his eyes prickling, he quickly turned the sink on and slipped his hat off, tossing it to the floor before splashing liberal handfuls of water over his face. He wished he was in the headspace to appreciate running water, as it was a rare commodity, but how could he, with this burning terror rising up his chest?

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nick whispered, the quavering crack in his voice just fueling more panic. He clumsily turned the water off before slumping against the sink, his wet face and dripping bangs soaking his shirt as he buried his face into the crook of his elbow.

He’d never felt so alone in his life. It had been a downward spiral, everyone he held dear dropping like flies until all he had was Luke—Luke, the unattainable. Luke, the hero. Luke, who was everything he wanted to be and more. Luke, who Nick needed so much more than Luke needed him.

Was Luke even still _alive_?

“I don’t—I don’t know what to _do_ ,” he stammered aloud, knowing it was to himself but wishing more than anything there was someone else there to answer them.

His mother. He wanted his mother. He wanted her beside him. He wanted her to take his face in her large, calloused hands, to press her lips against his forehead and tell him everything would be okay. He wanted Lilly, that bitter _mockery_ , with all her venomous words and her long brown hair so soft and beautiful, to disappear for good and for his mom to take her place.

Tears fell like a levee had broken, and all he could see was red. He wanted to just think of his mother for one moment and not see _red_.

“I don’t know—I don’t know what to _do_ , Mom,” he sobbed. Everything he’d been trying to hold down heaved up like viscous vomit. He was trying so hard but he failed her. He was nothing but a failure. If she could see him now she’d be so disappointed but all he could do was beg for her, beg until she was back, beg until everything that had happened and everything he had done was just an old nightmare. “I don’t know what to do, Mommy, _I don’t know what_ —”

Though he may not have been the firearms expert his uncle had been, Nick knew the sound of a cocked hammer when he heard one. He slowly lifted his head to gaze back into the mirror.

Behind him, as he hunched a slobbering, red-eyed mess— _poor broken boy_ —stood a familiar face, her revolver aimed right into the back of his head.

“I’m not your _mommy_ ,” she smirked, nuzzling the end of the barrel into his scalp. “But I think I can tell you what to do.”


End file.
